A Fowl Game
by Mrmath130
Summary: Artemis Fowl accepts an invitation from an architectural design company called Builder's League United. However, Butler is not allowed to go with him, and things immediately begin to seem strange for a supposed architecture company. Will Artemis have what it takes to survive in the Team Fortress? Rated T for eventual blood and language. ON HIATUS!
1. Chapter 1

I DO NOT OWN ARTEMIS FOWL OR TF2

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They made an odd pair, the hulking man in the suit and the teenager in a somehow more immaculate suit. Anyone who stared was stared down by the giant, while the teen walked on unperturbed. However, the few brave souls who looked past the Eurasian man's icy gaze at the teen were immediately even more terrified than before. This young man exuded an aura of self-confidence and arrogance. The teen chuckled to himself as several passerby fainted dead away upon catching his eye. He was used to that kind of reaction, and it amused him to no end.

The pair headed towards the train, where the boy picked up the smallest suitcase and carried it into the first-class car, the massive man carrying another six pieces of baggage with ease.

The boy looked around the coach, noticing with satisfaction the fact that they were the only people there. He was on his way to accept a deal from a certain corporation, the Builder's League United. He had agreed to work for them for five years, earning ten million euros a year, in exchange for his unwavering devotion to the company in its mission to crush its competitor in all things, Reliable Excavation and Demolition.

"If you would, simply leave the bags on the first few rows of seats."

Had anyone been in the carriage with them, they would have been scandalized to hear a young man whom they would assume would be the giant's son issue what was obviously a direct order. They would have been even more shocked if they had heard the words from the man mountain.

"Yes, master Artemis. Right away."

"Thank you Butler."

"Master Artemis, I must ask again…"

"Butler, I have already made up my mind. Besides, the League would not allow you to come with me in any case. You know that, as you read the letter almost before I was able to."

"I still don't like it, Artemis. I am essentially letting you into an organization which we know next to nothing about. Even if they have some of the finest guards from all the great military forces of the world, I would still feel safer if I could come with you."

Artemis sighed. "Thank you Butler for your opinion, but I am afraid we have no choice. This particular business venture should provide enough funds for the complete renovation of Fowl Manor, not to mention funding the current archeological dig by Rome. I believe they were searching for evidence of a civilization older than that of the Romans. Of course, all they will find is dirt…" Here he chuckled softly. "The People have done quite a good job at removing all traces that they ever existed, to the point of sending dwarves to carry away ancient remnants of their aboveground civilization before we humans can get at them."

Butler's eyes seemed to fill with tears for a moment, then he was his usual stoic self. "Remember to write me every week or so. I want to hear exactly what goes on in that place."

"So do I, old friend. All of our research points toward a company involved in creating prototype office buildings that will revolutionize architecture when finalized and released to the world."

"It all seems rather fishy to me, Artemis. However, you seem to have made up your mind, so I suppose I will have to let you get on with it. Goodbye for now, and good luck."

The two embraced for a moment, then Butler stepped off the train, wiping tears from his eyes. Not ten seconds later, the train began to move. Butler just barely caught a glimpse of his young charge staring out the window at him, and he waved a small goodbye. As the train pulled out of sight, he sighed and walked back to the Fowl Bentley. As he drove away, he couldn't help but think about something strange in the letter they had received from the League. They had accepted Artemis for his intelligence, but had politely turned down Butler's application for the mysterious reason of "not needing any more Heavies at the moment." What on Earth was a Heavy?

He soon found out.


	2. Chapter 2

I DO NOT OWN ARTEMIS FOWL OR TF2

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Artemis was just beginning to work on a new design for a house when he heard the door on the end of his coach open. Annoyed and mildly impressed at someone for picking the supposedly un-pickable lock he had immediately installed on the door, he turned around and saw…

Nothing. The door had somehow opened itself. Artemis frowned. He was sure that he had locked the door before he sat down. Yes, he had checked it several times before he had opened his laptop. With a sigh of annoyance, he got up and walked towards the door, only to have it close itself. Artemis was growing more confused by the second. There were no obvious motors in the door frame that he could detect, and even if there were, the lock should have kept the door shut.

After a moment of thought, he sighed, this time I impatience, and said supposedly to thin air, "There are no cameras still active in this coach, Holly. You can unshield now…" His voice trailed off as a man in an expensive blue suit and ski mask appeared out of thin air, lighting a cigarette. Artemis did not like smoking, but he ignored this particular fact as a result of the more pressing issue of discovering exactly how the man had appeared from nowhere. Camouflage foil, or Cam-Foil, could not simply dissolve into nothing as it would have had to have do to produce a similar effect, so the young Fowl reasoned that the man must be carrying some kind of personal invisibility device. Even as he thought this, the man spoke.

"'Allo, Artemis Fowl. It iz a pleasure to meet you. I am ze Spy."

Artemis automatically accepted the offered hand, subconsciously noting its feel, and well as that of the suit as it brushed against his fingertips. The man wore gloves, he realized. "I am pleased to meet you as well, Mr. Spy. That is a very fascinating cloaking device you possess."

The Spy looked almost impressed by Artemis' calm for a moment, but it quickly faded into impassivity. "Thank you. You will be studying under me once we reach BLU headquarters."

"BLU?" asked Artemis, then, "Of course, Builder's League United. Interesting that Reliable Excavation and Demolition's acronym spells RED. I take it there is some kind of business rivalry between the two corporations?" He noted the Spy's reaction to the word RED with interest. The man had suddenly gone stiff, and a cloud had passed over his face as he clutched something in his pocket. Again, in a moment he regained he trademark impassivity.

"If you will come wiz me I shall introduce you to the other eight members of the team." The Spy abruptly turned and began to walk out of the coach, then paused as both he and Artemis heard rapid footsteps.

"Oh, _Merde_."

The door slammed open just before the Spy reached it, and introduced Artemis to what would become the main irritation of his career at BLU.

"Yo, what's takin' so damn long?"

A young man who looked to be only a few years older than Artemis ran into the coach so fast that Artemis felt the wind ruffle his hair even at a distance of ten feet. The Spy appeared to be very annoyed, for him, as he was mercilessly chewing the butt of his cigarette to pieces and spitting them out.

Artemis, for his part, was taken off guard, and stumbled back a few feet before regaining his composure. The speedy young man didn't seem to have noticed the disturbance he had caused, and was now jogging in place while looking at a stopwatch.

"Oh hey, you must be the new guy, Artemis or somethin' like that. Yeah, that's you all right. I'm the Scout. Ain't nothin' faster than me in the whole of Dustbowl. How's it goin', man?"

Artemis could only stare in shock upon hearing the Scout's Bostonian butchery of the English language. Eventually the Spy cleared his throat and, discarding his mangled cigarette, hissed rather menacingly to the scout, "We were just going to see the rest of the team now, idiot, so if you don't mind moving out of the way, we will go to the carriage where they currently are."

The Scout, suddenly nervous, said carefully, "O-okay, yeah, sure, I'll just go an', ah, tell em' that you're coming… bye." With that, the Scout ran for his life out the still-open door. The Spy sighed and stroked his temples. "That boy can be such a pain in ze ass. Do not worry, he will likely not bother you after you have completed your training as a Spy. Come, let us meet the team."

Artemis, however, was lost in thought about how two seemingly opposite people could work together without killing one another, then realized: what kind of a team?


	3. Chapter 3

I DO NOT OWN ARTEMIS FOWL OR TEAM FORTRESS 2. CONSIDER YOURSELF DISCLAIMERED.

NOTICE: I am currently accepting names for the following characters: Pyro, Heavy, Medic, Spy, Scout,

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The two well-dressed men walked through three cars before reaching their destination. The Spy went first, announcing that Artemis would soon arrive. Artemis waited until the Spy turned and gestured for him to enter, then he stepped into a scene of pure chaos. The first thing he noticed was the Scout, who was curled up in a corner with a pornographic magazine. Frowning, Artemis looked to his left to come face to face with an obese man who could have rivaled Butler in a height contest. Despite his stomach, he appeared to be extremely strong. he was polishing a giant minigun.

The next person Artemis saw was a black man with an eye patch and a half-empty bottle of what Artemis recognized was an extremely powerful whiskey. Even as he watched, the man slowly fell forward and off his seat into the aisle. Nobody moved to help him up. Artemis couldn't blame them.

A tall, lanky Australian was speaking quietly to a Germanic man in a lab coat and small, round glasses, who nodded and said something about wanting to dissect a live elephant. The Australian merely raised his eyebrows a fraction of an inch.

A bulky man in an oversized army helmet was holding a copy of _Guns and Ammo _upside down, grunting every now and then. Suddenly he started and peered closely at the text on the page. Yelling "Dammit!" loudly, he flipped the magazine right side up and continued reading as if nothing had happened. The man next to him was playing guitar the entire time, seemingly unperturbed by the insanity around him. On closer inspection, Artemis noticed that his right hand was made of metal.

The final occupant of the car disturbed even Artemis confidence. A... _thing _in a flame-retardant suit and a gas mask that effectively covered its face was playing with a lighter and making eerie laughing sounds whenever the flame caught. Beside it was a box worth of burnt matches. Artemis decided that this creature was to be avoided at all costs.

Beside him, he heard the Spy cough loudly. "Gentlemen?"

Dead silence. All eyes were immediately on the Spy, even the creature's black lenses, lighter forgotten. "This is ze new recruit I was telling you about earlier, whom you sent Scout to find. Please acquaint yourselves with him, and remember: any harm that comes to him WILL be punished severely. Am I clear?"

A chorus of affirmatives echoed around the car.

"Good. I trust you will make him feel at home." With that, the Spy cloaked and walked away, hoping that the idiots didn't ruin everything on the first day.

The man who had been playing the guitar was the first to break the awkward silence, extending his robotic hand with a "Howdy" and a grin. Artemis took it, surreptitiously testing its strength. "The name's Dell, but y'all can just call me the Engineer. I solve..." here the man's grin turned darker "_practical _problems."

The next one up was the giant man. "I am Heavy Weapons Guy. And _this_..." he said, pulling out a massive minigun from the luggage rack, "is my weapon. Do not touch, or you die slow and painful death." The Heavy stared Artemis down for a second, then broke into roaring laughter. "Oh, ha ha ha ha! Come, let us be friends!" He retreated, grinning, to his seat.

After the enormous man had returned to polishing his gun, the Australian rose and walked over to Artemis, who was examining his hand for bruises from the Heavy's massive strength. "O'im Mr. Mundy, the Shopper of the team. Pleased ta meet ya, mate. Although the Sniper was smiling gently, Artemis detected something professional, for lack if a better word, about the man. He, along with the Engineer and Spy, seemed to be part of the brains of the organization.

The next man was the helmet-wearing American. He ignored Artemis' outstretched hand, instead snapping to attention and yelling at the top of his lungs. "Hello, maggot! I am the Soldier! You will address me as SIR or I WILL discipline you with my shovel! I do not want to know your name! I do not CARE about your name! From now on you are 'maggot' to me! DO. YOU. UNDERSTAND?" All the while he had been getting steadily closer to Artemis' face, so that by the time his rant was over he was mere inches from the boy's nose.

Artemis was feeling extremely annoyed. Unlike the others, who had been polite, this helmet-wearing nutcase was treating him like dirt. He would soon learn to respect the name of Artemis Fowl the Second. However, before he could treat the Soldier to a scathing reply, the Scout of all people grabbed Artemis' shoulder and whispered into his ear, "Just let it go. Solly gives everyone the same ol' talk on their first day. Ya can't let 'im bug ya, that's just what the asshole wants, a reason to yell some more. Ask Spy or me ta explain why he's so damn cranky after we get to tha' base." Artemis nodded slightly, feeling his anger seep slowly away, replaced with a strange feeling of gratitude towards the impulsive, foul-mouthed Scout. After glaring a moment longer, the Soldier growled and stumped back to his seat.

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MORE NEXT WEEK!


	4. Chapter 4

I DO NOT OWN ANY FOWLEY OR FORTRESSEY GOODNESS. SIGH. MAYBE AFTER I BUY VALVE AND COLFER'S SOUL.

Sorry for the late update, I was in Georgia with crappy Internet. I'll try to make it up later in the week.

Artemis was steaming after his encounter with the Soldier, but forced himself to remain calm. As he did so, he caught sight of the man in the lab coat standing and walking over to him. "_Guten tag_, Fowl. I am the Medic of the team. I heal the others during a battle, so that zey do not die as often when battling the RED forces."

The last sentence left Artemis extremely confused. "First, what do you mean that the team does not 'die as often?' Do people not tend to stay dead when killed? Also, what is your method of healing the team? Finally, I was informed that BLU was an architectural design company. What is this insane talk of battles and dying? Some kind of puzzle I must figure out to be proven worthy of joining BLU?"

The Medic chuckled, along with the Engineer and Heavy. "Zhey all ask the same questions on their first day. The packet you received lied to you, Fowl. BLU selected you not because you would make a fine architect, although you probably would, but because you possess the knowledge and cunning necessary to become a Spy for the war between the rival military forces RED and BLU. The names are simply covers. Herr Engineer will explain the dying multiple times."

The youth was shocked and confused at how he had been hoodwinked so neatly. Sure, it was suspicious that no information was available on the Internet about the rival companies, but nobody could have gathered that they were in a war where people could die multiple times. However, he managed to calm himself enough that the Engineer could explain the supposed rebirth process to him.

"Well, y'see, when one of us dies on the battlefield, we get resurrected from a big ol' machine called Respawn after a few seconds. We can keep fightin' all day if we need to and not get permanently killed once. It's a right nice system, for sure. I built it myself one day, before I joined BLU. The RED team copied it though, so they keep comin' back too."

Artemis narrowed his eyes. "That seems positively barbaric. Why in the world would anyone offer people millions of euros to die again and again?" The Engineer shrugged. "Entertainment, probably. There's this nasty ol' lady we call the Announcer who shouts stuff at us while we battle."

The youth's scowl intensified. "That may be fine for you, but I refuse to participate in such a monstrous indignity. I demand to be returned to the station immediately." The Sniper chuckled softly. "Sorry, mate, but oi'm afraid we can't do that. When you signed that contract, you agreed to stay with BLU for the duration of five years. Nothin' can change that now."

The Heavy's booming laughter echoed through the train. "Maybe ees not so bad, leetle man! Maybe you have fun with us, da? Be good Spy friend?" The massive man grinned expectantly at Artemis, who was still recovering from the shock and anger he had felt upon learning of the Respawn. "Perhaps," he allowed himself to say.

"Oy, mate, if it gets to be too much for ye, jus' ask me for some o' me Scrumpy. That'll put ye fears away in a jiffy!" said a Scottish voice from the floor at Artemis' feet. He looked down and into the eye of the man who had collapsed earlier. He was grinning and still holding the bottle of potent liquor. The two stared at each other for a second, then the man's eye widened and he smacked his forehead, then held out his hand. "Bloody hell, I almos' forgot. I'm the Demoman, lad. I have the mos' explosive job here. Jus' don't come in ta' my room unannounced once we get to tha Fortress, mate, or they'll have to glue you back together… IN HELL!" Artemis jumped a full two feet into the air, as the Demoman yelled the last two words. After a moment of furious breathing, the Scot calmed down and said, "Oy, give us a hand here, lad. I cannae get up off the bloody floor by meself!"

The masked thing came forward and held out a hand for the Demoman, who gratefully grasped it while the creature lifted his bulk with ease. As the Scot had struggled back to his seat, the thing brought a hand up to Artemis, waiting for him to shake it. After a moment, the its head went to one side, much like a dog. The glass eyepieces seemed to be staring at him innocently, almost cutely. After a long pause, Artemis slowly reached out and grabbed its hand. It seemed to be very pleased by this, making muffled sounds beneath its mask. "Mphhh mph mphhhph mphoo, mphhhrr mphhhll!"

"Oy, the Pyro says its noice ta' meetcha', mate," said the Sniper. "You'll have to forgive 'im. He never takes that bloody mask off, even t' eat. He just takes his food and goes to his room. Dunno what hes hidin' under there." The young genius looked back at the Pyro, who was now bouncing in place with its hands clasped just below its neck. Artemis thought that the Pyro seemed more like a small child than anything else, what with its earlier fascination with the lighter, and now this.

A few minutes later, Artemis heard the Demoman shout, "OY! WE'RE ALMOST THERE! I CAN SEE THA BLOODY FORT!" The Heavy, who had been napping, jumped almost a foot in the air, yelling at the top of his lungs. The Scout rushed to the door, yelling, "Yo punks, I betcha I can beat the train there!" With that declaration out of the way, he opened the door and jumped out of the car. He hit the ground running, although slower than the train. _What does that idiot think he is doing!_ thought Artemis. Chuckling, he looked out the window, blinked, and looked again. The Scout was _running as fast as the train_, which by the young genius' estimates, was moving at a steady 30 mph.

The Scout noticed a large bump alongside the tracks, directly in his path. Artemis thought for sure that he would have to go around it; it was too tall for anybody to jump, even a professional high-jumper. Obviously, the Scout didn't know that. He kept going straight for it. When he got to within four feet of it, he jumped, then jumped again while still in the air, easily clearing the obstacle.

It was a full five seconds before Artemis realized that the laws of physics had just gone to hell. It took another three for him to close his mouth.


	5. Chapter 5

**I DO NOT OWN ARTEMIS FOWL OR TEAM FORTRESS 2. THEY ARE COPYRIGHT EOIC COLFER AND VALVE RESPECTIVELY. THIS IS A DISCLAIMER. IF YOU KNEW THAT BEFORE YOUR READ THE LAST SENTENCE, YOU GET A COOKIE. ENJOY.**

** Oh god, I've been so bad. I haven't updated in over a month. A MONTH. Why don't you just shoot me right now and get it over with?**

** *BANG***

** Ok, I'm back. The wound wasn't fatal, so I get to keep writing for you. As the Spy would say, top shelf! (What does that even mean?) So here it is, another physics-breaking chapter of Pinkie Pie proportions.**

* * *

As the train pulled into the rickety station, the Scout climbed onto the roof of the engine and began hitting it with a baseball bat, making a raucous clanging noise which Artemis found quite unpleasant. He wasn't the only one. The drunken Demoman was holding his head in one hand and drinking from three bottles at once. The Spy had broken a cigarette in two and had half stuffed in each ear, while the Sniper pulled his hat over his eyes and ears, muttering about piss and gremlins. The carriage doors opened, and the team made a mad rush away from the noise. Surprisingly, the massive heavy was the first out, literally carrying the slight Medic, who didn't seem to mind being picked up like a girl. Next was the Spy, then the Soldier and Demoman, who had tried to go through the doorway at the exact same time, resulting in them getting stuck for a moment before the Engineer pulled the Soldier's arm a bit, dislodging the river of BLU's. The Pyro was the last out, although it didn't seem to mind. In fact, it was humming cheerily, if a bit loudly, as if to block out the racket.

The Scout, meanwhile, was so focused on his task of being a complete and total asshole that he didn't notice that the team had already left the train. He stopped for a moment to yell down the smokestack, "Hey, c'mon you lazy bozos! We're here already!" The Spy growled, much like a dog, and pulled out a massive silver revolver with an engraving of a woman on the side. Artemis watched, horrified, as the Spy took careful aim and fired. The Scout jerked upright as his aluminum bat was torn from his hands by the force of the .50 caliber bullet. "Come on, you imbecile, let us move. You have held us up enough with your foolish antics." The idiot in question heaved a dramatic sigh and jumped down from the train, retrieving his dented bat and glaring at the Spy. "Damn spook. Go blow it out your ass." The masked man smirked, pulling out a picture of a rainbow and saying in a high-pitched voice, "This is Scout. Rainbows make me cry!" Artemis glanced at the runner, and was shocked to see fat tears sliding down his cheeks. "Will ya just let's go?"

The walk to the Fortress only took about fifteen minutes, but it seemed like an age to the teenage genius. He had to deal with the unlikely team's constant bickering and nagging, as well as the Demoman's drunken breath and inability to walk in a straight line for more than five steps. The Pyro was guiding him, mumbling cheerfully about something or other, while the Scot wisely nodded every so often, usually with an, "Aye, laddie," or "Tha's right, ya know, tha's right." The Spy remained cloaked, dropping out of it only ever so often, usually with the aim of surprising the Scout. Finally, they arrived at the blue, concrete building. The Spy punched in a number in a small door recessed in the side, and pushed on the bar. It opened without a sound, revealing what Artemis could only call a disorganized hell of papers, food, and other things he preferred not to identify. Then the smell hit him. He wrinkled his nose and turned to his new teammates, intending to complain, when he heard the door slamming shut. Frowning, he walked over to it and attempted to open it, but it was tightly locked. Suddenly, a he heard a voice over a hidden speaker. "This is the first test: find the way out in less than five minutes. Good luck. You'll need it."

For nearly two minutes Artemis sat on the grubby couch and thought. That it was supposed to be obvious was not lost on him, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out where the exit was… Of course! Laughing, he walked over to the door he had entered through and said, "This is the exit." The door swung open, revealing the team. The Spy seemed impressed for a moment, but quickly replaced the look with his trademark sneer. "Well done, Master Fowl. However, there are several more tests left for you. Soldier will oversee the most basic, and yet one of the most important of these." Here the American stepped forward, leaning down into Artemis' face and grinning. "Physical strength," he said, the smell of meat obvious on his breath.

The Soldier led him to another door with a wooden sign over it saying simply, "Gymnasium." He unlocked the door and pushed Artemis in ahead of him. A wide variety of exercise equipment was scattered about the large room, with a standard oval track in the center. Hurdles lay off to the side in a neat pile. "Alright, maggot. Listen up. I want you to go run three miles, right now. Go!" Artemis looked at the arrogant American for a moment, as if challenging him to force the genius to do so. The Soldier grinned, reached into his back pocket, and pulled out a shotgun. "Twelve laps, maggot. Do I make myself clear? Answer by running." He cocked the shotgun, and Artemis decided that a little running wouldn't be so bad after all.

Two laps later, he was beginning to have second thoughts. His legs ached from underuse, his breathing has heavy, and sweat poured down his brow in waves. He was still in his fancy suit, and was becoming miffed that he hadn't been given a set of exercise clothes to run in. It didn't help that the Soldier was facepalming and muttering, "No, no, no. No, no. What kind of maggot can't run three measly miles? Why, God, why? No, no, no." As Artemis crossed the finish line at a slow jog and began his third lap, the American had finally had enough. "Agh, dammit maggot, why can't you run a simple three mile course? What the hell is wrong with you? Have you never run in your life or something?" Artemis, panting, wheezed out, "Never more than a half mile, no." The Soldier stood straight up suddenly. He gaped for a moment before regaining his composure. "What… but… why not? Why didn't you run more before?" He simply could not comprehend the idea of someone living and not enjoying physical activity. Artemis gave the American an icy stare. "I've never needed to. My bodyguard always protected me and did the physical activity. I was the brains of the operation." The Soldier's mind, already unstable, snapped right then and there. This little pampered maggot was dumb enough to trust someone stronger than him with his _life_? Why, that was preposterous! Even if he was smarter and able to plan for any eventuality didn't give him the right to rely on someone else to do the dirty work while he sat and thought about… actually, that almost made sense. The American's mind was churning furiously by this point, as he waged a war against his own ideals. Finally he jerked back to life, picked up Artemis by the back of his shirt, and carried him out the door. He would let the boy exercise on his own before testing him like that again. After all, he hadn't started out strong either…

* * *

**What's this? Solly actually understands part of Arty's life? Preposterous!**


	6. Chapter 6

**I DO NOT OWN ARTEMIS FOWL OR TF2. I OWN MY INSANITY AND THE PLOT OF THIS STORY. I ALSO OWN A SMALL HERMIT CRAB.**

** With that out of the way, the exciting news arrives. An on-time update! Holy Fanfiction, Batman!**

** *BANG***

** Ouch.**

** Ok. Here's the story, before I have to be shot again. NO WAIT WAIT DON'T POINT THAT THING AT ME-**

* * *

Artemis was very annoyed and embarrassed. After the Soldier had literally carried him out of the exercise room, he had been sent to work with the Scout to improve his speed with weapons. So far, it was a complete disaster. He was supposed to be firing a pistol at several targets on a wall in a set time. Of course, Artemis had never fired a pistol before, except for Butler's tranquilizer gun. Needless to say, the Scout was quite amused, although he did find time to be helpful in between laughing fits.

"Look, first ya' pull th' slide back, then ya' look down th' sights… No, not like that! Your otha' hand goes HERE, not here. What th' hell do ya' think this is, a frickin' taco? This ain't fast food, brotha', it's a high-powered face-remover." After watching another of Artemis' feeble attempts, the Scout facepalmed and took the pistol from the genius. "Just watch me, dumbass. THIS is how a pro does it." With that, he spun the pistol around and double-jumped, firing the gun three times at the apex of his leap. All three shots hit the centers of their targets. The cocky Bostonian landed in a deep bow, then straightened, grinning. "Try that sometime when ya' feel like a man. Any questions?"

"How exactly do you jump while in midair? That defies at least four known laws of physics." The Scout obviously didn't expect that particular question. "Well, uh, I just, um… hell, I dunno. I just jump in th' air, dammit, and it works. Engie might know how. Any questions about how to SHOOT THE GUN?" Artemis shook his head wearily. This was becoming rather ridiculous. He picked up the pistol once again, managing to hold it correctly, took careful aim at the first target, and fired. His arm shot straight up from the recoil, and the bullet shattered a hanging light, plunging a corner of the room into relative darkness. At that, the Scout literally fell onto his back, laughing his head off. "Oh man, that was priceless. Th' look on your face when th' recoil got ya'… Oh wow. Gotta remember that one." Artemis was tempted to shoot the baseball-obsessed jerk after the row of targets.

After nearly an hour, the Bostonian finally gave up. "Brotha', you can't shoot for crap. C'mon, let's get ya' to th' next test."

Which turned out to be supervised by the Demoman.

"Aye, laddie, we're gonna make us some bombs. Then we're gonna bomb things with 'em! An' then we're gonna bomb more tings with 'em! An' then we're gonna get drunk on me Scrumpy!" The Black, Scottish, Cyclops was slightly overenthusiastic about teaching the genius about explosives. He led Artemis to a table filled with cases, canisters of chemicals and powders, and small bits of wiring and other electronics. Off to the side was a large, half-open refrigerator filled with several brands of strong liquor. "Na' lad, yer gonna have ta' get yer hands dirty with these babies. I want ye to make three grenades that'll explode on impact with a hard surface. Ye got everythin' yer gonna need right in front of ye. You have thirty minutes. Good luck." The Demoman set a small alarm clock, then promptly went to sleep on a corner of the desk.

Artemis was feeling confident about this test. He was, of course, very good with chemistry as a result of absorbing knowledge through more than twenty textbooks on the subject. He first filled the tips of the cases with the primer explosive, then placed a detonator in each mound, gluing it in place. He added the main explosive and a detonator on the other side of each case, in case the grenade spun in the air. Finally, he placed some more of the primer in the empty half, next to the secondary detonator. He screwed the cases together and checked the time. Eleven minutes left. He smirked, an idea for a prank coming together in his devious mind.

With less than thirty seconds left, he had the entire trap set up. Wires led from the alarm clock's circuitry up a wall and across the ceiling. Soup cans and empty Scrumpy bottle hung off the wires, along with Christmas lights. Under the Demoman's chair were several more soup cans, each attached to a leg. All the explosives in the room were covered by fireproof blankets. And on the Demo's head was a gigantic afro with more wires leading to the clock.

The alarm went off. First, the explosives on the walls and ceiling went off, causing the entire room to flash for a moment. Next, the Christmas lights came on, while several pops and booms could be heard from some cabinets. As the miniature grenades inside them exploded, the drawers shot outward, one by one. The now wide-awake Demoman looked around in shock, not noticing the wires going to his brand new afro. He noticed the hair soon enough, however, when it exploded around him in a shower of black, burning fuzz. Finally, as the radio came on and began playing ACDC's "TNT," the cans on the chair legs exploded, sending the entire seat a full foot into the air before dropping it with a crash. For several seconds the explosives expert sat there, dumbfounded, before he noticed the box in front of him. With trembling fingers he opened it. Inside lay three small grenades, with a note from Artemis. As he read it, he calmed down and began laughing uproariously. It read: "If you livde through that, give my thanks to your father, Mr. Degroot. As your family motto goes, _Os yw'n goroesi, wnaethoch chi yn anghywir_. (Welsh for, "If it survives, you did it wrong.") "That lad'll be a fine Spy. He's got th' personality down already." Just then, the genius walked back in, smirking. "Did you like my wake-up call, Mr. Degroot?" The cyclops laughed harder. "Aye, that I did. You'd make a fine Demoman if ye put yer mind to it. Just like that wee redhead, oh, fifteen years ago. A tiny thing, she was, about three feet. Now what was 'er name, Polly, Molly, ah bloody hell. I cannae' remember..."

Artemis stood there, stunned. "Holly..." he said quietly. The explosives expert brightened up immediately. "Aye! That was it! Holly Short! Aye, now I remember more. She had the strangest ears, pointed, they was. Said she was one o' the People o' somethin'. She was gon' ta' wipe me memory, she said. Some kind o' secret society, millions o' people in it callin' themselved fairies. Hidin' from th' Mud Men. Only reason I still remember is that BLU saved me arse at th' last second. I cannae leave here now, boyo, or she'll come for me thoughts in me head." He began crying quietly. "Lad, if ye should ever meet a fairy, don' trust em! They'll break ye heart and ye mind. That's why I drink. I cannae get over her."

The genius was shocked beyond belief. Holly knew this drunken Scot? And he had been in love with her? He had thousands of questions, but realized that they could wait until the Demoman calmed down. So he waited in the dark room, smelling of sulphur and alcohol, thinking about what to ask. Then he got an idea. He twisted the large ring on his finger, then placed his hand by his head. After a few moments, he murmered quietly into his thumb, "Holly, we need to talk. Now."

* * *

**Well, it seems Arty isn't the only one who knows about the People! Where will this go, I wonder? Well, of course I know. You, on the other wand, will know soon enough!**


End file.
